War
by Luciun Weasley-Ogg
Summary: Harrys musings. a satire on so many Final Battle fanfics that turns dark at the End


War 

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling,_

Of course, Harry had always known that there would have to be a war. That's what his whole life had led up to, hadn't it? His little skirmishes with Voldemort had all just been a prelude to the Grand and Glorious War of the Wizards, as some people had already begun to call it. After graduating from Hogwarts, Harry was supposed to engage in a battle to the death with Voldemort. The Darkest Wizard of the Age against the Hope of the Wizarding World. Everyone would choose their sides—though if you were a respectable wizard, you would be with Harry Potter; and if you were a Slytherin, or some other unsavoury type of wizard, or an ugly magical creature you'd definitely be in the ranks of Death Eaters—and then they would fight.

It would be a marvellous battle, the likes of which had not been seen since Dumbledore was young and in his prime. The spells casting showers of light upon the battlefield, the grassy meadow strewn with the corpses of the evil wizards who had deserved their death. And, naturally, only those nasty followers of Voldemort would be throwing Unforgivable Curses at the brave and gallant knights of Harry Potter. Much too distasteful for the side of the light to do things like that.

And, near the end of the war, the Aurors and Weasley's and Gryffindors would have a moment of panic, of fear, because the Death Eaters were closing in, and people were being hit by hexes and curses and falling down.

But then, in a blaze of light, Harry Potter would appear.

And everyone would know that it was going to be all right, that they wouldn't lose, that Harry Potter—though he was just eighteen, and couldn't even beat Draco Malfoy in a fight—would save them all.

And lo and behold, the saviour would ride up—because walking or running just wasn't romantic enough, so he obviously had to be riding a unicorn—to the man who had held the wizarding world in a state of perpetual terror for so long, whip out his wand, and bellow out a thousand-year-old incantation that no one had ever thought to use before.

And He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named would be vanquished. Forever.

Then the Death Eaters, seeing how easily their leader had been slain, would throw themselves to the ground begging for mercy, and Potter's Patriots—because every army needs a catchy name that rolls off the tongue—being a kind and generous lot, would of course let the mangy rats live. And if, instead of a quick and merciful kill—such as the kind the Death Eaters bestowed on much of their victims; just one moment of blindingly green light—the prisoners were stuck in Azkaban, where the worst moments of their lives had to be relived over and over again, or they got kissed by a Dementor, their soul sucked out through their teeth, well, it was just a bunch of Slytherins anyway. Everyone knew the Slytherins were an evil bunch.

And there would be feasts and parties celebrating the demise of the dark lord for the next month, nay year! And Harry Potter, being a gracious young man, would accept his Order of Merlin, First Class, with a quiet and regal dignity, and then he would accept the post of Minister of Magic—youngest one in three hundred years! And he would get married to that nice young Weasley girl—Ginny, and they would have six red-haired, green-eyed children to play with those of Ron and Hermione's—who had also gotten married at the end of the war.

And if some people—namely, Snape—didn't get an Order of Merlin, even after all those years of spying and helping the side of the light, well, he was a greasy git who'd been in Slytherin, and how do we know whether or not he's plotting to become the next dark lord?

And everyone would be happy, and lively music would play in the background as a big rainbow filled the sky and fairies and elves and nymphs and mermaids—pretty ones, not the things in the lake by Hogwarts—would all join hands with the wizards and witches and everyone would sing 'What a Wonderful World'.

Except that wouldn't happen.

For a while Harry had been able to believe that it could happen. That, perhaps, as he got older he would become braver and smarter and be able to resist the pain of Crucio. That he wouldn't be so bloody terrified when he was up against Voldemort.

But now he knew better.

Because he wasn't sure what he was anymore.

Certainly not the young boy eager for a family, friendship, acceptance, and love that had stepped of the Hogwarts Express almost six years ago.

Neither was he the angry youth that had trashed Dumbledore's office a year ago.

He was something new and different.

And he knew the war would not be something happy.

There would be blood and death, and Tom's side would not be the only one throwing Unforgivables.

And once people had fallen, they wouldn't get up. On both sides Families would be torn apart and broken, On both sides prisoners would be tortured and made insane, and children would lose that innocence that a time of peace gives them, and become orphans, just like him and just like Tom


End file.
